


Love By StrexCorp

by EruditExperimenter



Category: StrexCorp - Fandom, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mind Control, Violence, brain washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruditExperimenter/pseuds/EruditExperimenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love By StrexCorp

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to repeat that. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

  
The Hendricks should have been a red flag. Typically, Ricardo didn’t have drinks ready and waiting when he called his protege in for a meeting. While the rosemary garnished gin and tonics had certainly made a pleasant prelude to their discussion, it was now clear to Sergio what they were meant for; a little something to prepare his nerves for the shock to the system about to be delivered.   
  
“Because I  _thought_  you said, ‘ _marriage_.’”   
  
“Last time I checked – I didn’t have the habit of stuttering, Sergio. You heard correctly.” The President finds himself sipping the drink already.   
  
The whole day had been a blur of, ‘do this, sign that, test this, try that,’ and Ricardo’s head is pounding in sync with his heart. It had taken him years to groom the young man currently gaping at him, readying him for this moment exactly, and the stakes lying on his protege’s reaction are very high and very delicate. The smallest tip of the scale to the wrong side and everything will be over.   
  
“Don’t act so surprised. You must take a wife to complete your image and you are ripe enough to do so. Here’s to you, kid.” Ricardo pats his back and cheers with his drink, watching the younger man warily.   
  
Raising his glass in an almost automatic response, Sergio appears to be mastering himself; rough waters smoothing. He doesn’t  _feel_  ripe enough to wed. At twenty-five, he’s only just getting his sea legs in the company. The re-education department suited him, Sergio well on his way to becoming the section head.    
  
But, yes. Ricardo was right. With Sergio’s position within the company becoming increasingly high profile, it made sense to further polish and tailor the image presented to the rest of StrexCorp and the general public.    
  
After a lengthy sip of gin, the fellow allowing the herbal potable to linger on his tongue for a time, he exhales, sets aside his glass, straightens his tie, and looks his mentor in the eyes.    
  
“Very good. Thank you for your congratulations. When do I meet her?”   
  
The President wasn’t even aware of the breath he’d been holding and the release of it sends a calming tingle down his chest. He clears his throat to wake himself from the lightheaded feeling.   
  
He’s relieved.   
  
But also very uneasy with laying such a responsibility on his protege. Marriage, real or fake is a grand step in someone’s life and forcing such a lifestyle on a man only twenty-five is not something he had planned. He himself was wed at thirty-three. This was cruel and too soon, but their time is running out.   
  
“As soon as her mental rebranding is over,” Ricardo states as a matter of fact. “She’s a feisty one… Well she  _was_ , and we don’t need that image for the company, do we?”   
  
He rests his drink on the polished wood of his desk. “I prepared you long enough for her, Sergio.”   
  
“She’s undergoing re-education?”   
  
Sergio’s eyes flash, the young man leaning forward. He’s practiced enough in concealing his bewilderment that few outside of his mentor can recognize it for what it is. Wheels and gears spin in his mind, the youth combing through faces of those recently inducted into the re-education department. Had he seen her? Was someone whose mind he’d had a hand in shaping meant to be his spouse? Many of the newer materials being used in the department were of his own design. His voice, ideas, the chemicals he’d designed…were they all being employed to mold his future wife into who she is becoming?    
  
He voices none of this, only taking up his drink again and having a sip.   
  
“When do you estimate she’ll be ready?”   
  
Ricardo gives his younger image time to process it all and the shock he reads on the other’s body is not lost to him. He circles the the hem of his glass lazily with his finger, taking a deep breath and locking his eyes with those of his protege.    
  
“I believe it’s only a few minutes until I get the confirmation call from the department, all that’s left is to dress her up and make her coherent to walk and talk.” He keeps watching the younger man for any signs of refusal, cursing himself for teaching him so well to keep his feelings under lock and barrel at times like these.    
  
“She’s probably going to be incredibly bashful. How are  _you_  feeling, Sergio?”   
  
“Apprehensive. Bemused,” the young man confesses. “I will say that waking up this morning, this was not the turn I expected my day to take.”    
  
Drumming his fingers atop the arm rest, he nods to the timeline Ricardo lays out.    
  
Soon. So soon. A day or two, he had suspected; perhaps a few more hours at least. Something about this seems wrong. There is something behind this rush that Ricardo isn’t disclosing.   
  
“Bashful? Fiery to bashful, then. Well…”   
  
That could mean extensive re-education utilizing advanced techniques.    
  
“What else should I know about her before meeting her? May I have her name? Does she know what is to become of her?”   
  
“Stella,” Ricardo begins. “Her name is Stella.”    
  
He wonders if the younger will remember the name from years gone by, when he had only begun his training to become what he is steadily blossoming into. The name itself should spark a reaction of sorts but with all that he put Sergio through the years, he’s not sure the memory stuck.    
  
The thin smartphone on his desk buzzes, demanding his attention immediately. He excuses himself and leaves the room to catch in with the details of his project’s second half.    
  
She’s ready.    
  
Ricardo re-enters his office, standing at the doors. “I’ll be back shortly, prepare yourself.” With that he is gone, leaving his protege to his own thoughts.   
  
_ Stella. _   
  
Getting to his feet, something tugs at Sergio’s mind, the churn within slowing.    
  
_ You know that name, don’t you?  _   
  
Beginning to pace, brow furrowed, the man’s hands absently begins straightening his collar and cuffs, smoothing back hair and adjusting glasses in unconscious precision.    
  
_ Think. _   
  
But it was too much to get through; the shock still reverberating in the confines of his skull making it too difficult to pick out individual lines of thought.    
  
_ Later. _   
  
Focus on the now. What can you control? What is within your power?   
  
Plucking the rosemary from the cocktail, pressing it between his teeth and allowing the piney, herbal taste shock him into clarity, Sergio becomes still.   
  
_ Ears and eyes open. Pay attention. Analyze afterward. _   
  
Spitting the garnish into the nearby wastepaper basket, the man breathes in deep through his nose, ribs swelling and just a little pained before exhaling again through his mouth.   
  
_ Let’s see the shape of your future. _   
  
Ricardo’s steps are heavier than usual, mirroring his heart.    
  
The way to the private clinic feels longer than normal; the hall stretching further with every step he takes. Everything is blindingly white, unlike the interior of the offices and halls above them. So sterile, so sickeningly perfect. He steps into the clinic past the automatic sliding doors.    
  
“Is she ready?” No time for small talk, not now.    
  
“Yes, sir.” A nurse hurries closer to him and hands him the folder with all the data he needs. He looks over it quickly, taking in as much information as he needs before tucking it under his arm. He’ll have to keep it closed and away from Sergio’s eyes, at least for the first few years.    
  
He takes another breath when faced with the private room’s entrance, hand resting on the door handle for far too long it appears, making the nurses at his side glance at him worriedly. He pushes the door open to greet the other half of his project and she is absolutely perfect in form, Ricardo hopes she is just as perfect after her rebranding.    
  
“Good afternoon, Stella.” His voice is nearly a whisper, making the nurses scatter away and leave him to finish her preparations.    
  
“Good afternoon…” The young woman answers slowly; a little bit dizzy. He smiles and comes closer, she takes a step back.    
  
“Don’t be afraid, Stella. I’m Dr. Ricardo Vega, you’re here thanks to me, remember?” While making sure she processes the information, he takes a small jewelry box out of his suit jacket’s pocket, along with a white silk scarf.   
  
“I… Remember. I’m a little dizzy…” she confesses, and her red painted lips quiver with the stress practically oozing from her. He comes closer, opening the box and taking out a gold plated choker and a pearl necklace.    
  
“It’s understandable, you’ve been through so much,” he coos, dressing her neck with the jewels and waiting for the distinctive click of the choker, signaling its activation before concealing the thin gold line with the white scarf. “Your darling is awaiting you, Stella. Shall we?”    
  
She nods and slides her arm into the loop Ricardo’s makes, touching the necklace resting upon her chest. That will be a telltale sign of nervousness and Ricardo files it in his mind to explain to Sergio later.    
  
He instructs her to wait outside the office for a bit before entering, clearing his throat to alert the young man waiting inside.    
  
“Sergio. Meet Stella.” Ricardo opens the office’s door wide, presenting his protege’s wife.   
  
Maybe it’s the shock still lingering within him. Even so, the woman at Ricardo’s side is sublime; resplendent in goldenrod and pale vermillion, her red-gold hair curling richly to cradle the sides of a heart-shaped face. Sergio pauses before moving toward her. The man is unsure if the hesitation is simply out of practice for the effect it has upon people; the sharp, dark angles of him set a tone of intimidation before he even opens his mouth and he regularly uses that to his advantage. But this is different. Rather, it feels more like something done out of honest awe of the woman.   
  
“Hello, Stella.”   
  
His voice is softer than he intended it to be, the tenderness edging it with a genuineness that surprises Sergio even as it passes his lips.   
  
“My name is Sergio.”   
  
Closing the space between them, he takes her hand delicately, bending fractionally at the waist to plant a feathery kiss upon her fingers. The choice of them for visual contrast is obvious; poisoned chocolate to honeyed sweets and cream, sharp and obsidian to soft and amber. A perfect unified face to present for the company.   
  
“I am enchanted to meet you.”   
  
Ricardo hears the sharp breath the young woman takes when his protege speaks, unprepared for the soft tone and delicate treatment, and he himself is both pleased and terrified of what can unravel from such a development.    
  
The older man’s hand is at Stella’s back when she tries to step away and out of the office, planting her in place to deal with the looming terror that is her husband to be.    
  
“Now, Stella… Don’t be shy,” he murmurs gently to her, not easing her petrified trembling in the least it appears. She’s trying her best to form words, but fear has he tongue heavy and her throat closing in. Her small hand is shaking in Sergio’s, along with her fragile frame, though she forces herself to at least smile and nod.    
  
The President’s brows furrow and he gently disconnects their hands before guiding the terrified young woman to sit, calling in Cleo to bring her tea.    
  
“Sergio, may I speak to you outside?”   
  
The tremble that moves through Stella’s frame gives Sergio pause, the man beginning to rise just before his mentor separates him from the young woman. Straightening, he gives Ricardo a nod, sparing a glance at the canary-clad girl sitting in wait for her tea before stepping outside of the office.   
  
He hadn’t expected her to be quite so shaken. Typically those fresh from re-education were, if anything, in a dream-like state. That she is still capable of any feeling outside of those ordinarily coded into newly minted StrexCorp employees speaks volumes to her will power. She is so lovely; a confection of spun gold. But her delicate appearance clearly belies the strength of her.   
  
She is fighting.   
  
_ Extraordinary. _   
  
Ricardo waits for his secretary to enter the office with the tea, kneeling besides the trembling bride to be to try and soothe her nerves. He takes out a thin gold plated remote from his pocket, one that matches Stella’s choker and gently presses a button.    
  
There’s a barely audible click and the young woman straightens, breath catching in her chest. She blinks once, then thrice, the President keeps track of this number and files it away to deliver to his protege.   
  
She smiles at him and thanks his secretary for the tea before idly touching her hand where Sergio’s lips touched earlier. She blushes, Ricardo sighs in relief. Now she is ready.   
  
He exits the office to join the younger businessman outside, handing him the remote.   
  
“I miscalculated the dosage given to her after waking up,” He lies. “But she is absolutely perfect now.” No need for his heir to worry about such minor things.   
  
“I see.”   
  
Sergio nods to his mentor, taking the remote, regarding it with a look of reverence before slipping it into his pocket and glancing to the door beyond which his future wife awaits.   
  
“I was wondering at that. It’s not often that I see anyone emerging from re-education not operating at pre-dictated parameters. Her will would have to be immense.”   
  
There is a part of him that is mildly disappointed. The sort of mind capable of defying the rigors of StrexCorp’s employee orientation would be one worth meeting.   
  
Still, the man feels uneasy.  _Twenty-five_. It seems so soon; so young. But he trusts Ricardo. If StrexCorp’s President feels it’s time for him to be wed, so be it. The man has never been wrong before, with the sculpting of Sergio’s life or any other aspect of which the younger was aware.   
  
So play the part, Prince. Charm, smiles, elaborate etiquette, ornamental language, respect to the hierarchy.   
  
“She is exquisite. I am  _already_  forever in your debt, but I thank you kindly for arranging a marriage with so radiant a spouse.”   
  
The initial plan had been to introduce the young couple to each other, have them talk in private to get to know each other for a while and then beginning with the wedding preparations a day later.    
  
What was not in the plan is the bride-to-be’s mental resistance and a darling meeting turning into a turbulence of negative connotations and damage control on his side. Still, he’s proud of both his protege for taking it all in stride and the young bride being stubborn and strong.    
  
“I picked her for you from many other candidates, she completes you.” Ricardo rests his hand on the younger man’s back affectionately, completely ignoring his commentary concerning the project’s re-education. He turns them both towards the office’s entrance, where the future wife greets the pair with a vibrant smile.    
  
“I’m going to leave you both to talk. Remember to look into her eyes for about 90 minutes.” He pushes the man inside, winking and closing the door behind him.   
  
Giving his mentor a courteous nod, Sergio strides into the office, having a seat across from Stella. He has no doubt that Ricardo’s choice is sound, and wonders what it is to be completed by another. In his time being groomed into an heir, Sergio had been told repeatedly of the importance of standing on one’s own. Then again, this is a merged matter of both personal and corporate interests; an image for the company as well as another piece of the puzzle in his private life. Perhaps this is what Ricardo meant; the marriage serving as a bridge between home and business.   
  
Dismissing Cleo, he smiles congenially to his future wife. Taking her cup, the businessman adds cream and from an elegant, crystal receptacle, a lump of sugar pressed into the shapes of an orange triangle embossed with an ‘S’ insignia. Smelling of citron and spice, the tea is tinged a rich, amber hue. Offering the drink, Sergio speaks in a low, mellifluous tone, dark gaze holding Stella’s. Her eyes are different now, the lines of her body more sedate. A hollow echo of the previous disappointment rang within him. It did, however, make it easier to put his own feelings into check.   
  
“You’ve been through so much, dear heart. Drink this; it will help.”   
  
Pouring himself a cup with neither cream nor sugar, Sergio finds himself easing into the role of the charming serpent.    
  
All she remembers is the smallest prickle on her neck and then the world turned beautiful.    
  
Stella thanks Cleo one more time before a tall dark line appears in the edge of her vision again. She is not trembling this time, which is good. It made the man uncomfortable and his displeased aura hit her like gale winds, but now he’s sitting across her, assembling tea.    
  
She’s not even done with her own, but she’d rather not have him feeling rejected again. So she smiles sweetly and takes the hot beverage, the rich aroma embracing her senses like a warm blanket on a lazy Sunday’s wintery morning.    
  
“Thank you, darling.” Her voice is not small as she feared it to be; it’s gentle. She wishes he’d stop staring at her so much, but she doesn’t allow herself to break the connection.    
  
Something about him terrifies her. She knows it’s not him, but something connected to him. Her cloudy mind disturbs any further reasoning.   
  
Sergio observes her quietly, noting that she took what he offered over what was already present.   
  
Good. Preference and deference. This would be important. The affectionate address is encouraging, as well. A place for everything, and everything in its place. After sipping his tea, the businessman takes a spoon between his fingers, moving it in regular, elaborate circles between digits in a mesmerizing fashion; eyes still never straying from Stella’s.   
  
“Of course. I’m so pleased to see you, Stella. Would you mind telling me about yourself? I want to know just everything.”   
  
The spinning silverware between the man’s fingers distracts her, but her eyes are still stubbornly locked to his. Her instinct begs her to swat the distraction away and shove it down his throat and—Oh. Oh dear, such violent thoughts, where did they even come from?   
  
“W-well,” She sips her tea, trying to align everything she knows, her mind is still so fuzzy, memories and facts swirling together into a messy stew.   
  
“My name is Stella Kehr…” And she is stuck again, brows furrowing in thought. She smiles at him sweetly, time for change of tactic – “What else would you like to know?”   
  
The spoon ceases twirling, flicking easily against Sergio’s palm before he lays it neatly on the napkin beside his cup.    
  
Excellent. Maintenance of eye contact and attention in spite of distraction. Thus far every indication was of highly competent re-education, but that was hardly surprising given her instructor.   
  
“Do you like flowers? I’m quite fond of botany, myself. StrexCorp has afforded me an impressive greenhouse. It’s good for certain parts of my work as well as for recreational purposes. Perfumes, medicines…some of the tea here actually includes extracts and other parts of the plants I grow.”   
  
True, some of those extracts are more _interesting_  than others, but he dares anyone to find a finer cup of rose and chamomile.   
  
“Which kinds of flowers do you like best? I may have some in bloom right now that I could show you.”   
  
Her eyes light up at the mention of the greenhouse, heart fluttering in excitement, making her smile sincere.   
  
While her expertise lies in home economics… She thinks… The idea of gardening sparks an immediate interest in her mind.   
  
“I do adore lilies of the valley…. But I’m afraid Desert Bluffs’ climate won’t allow them to grow here.” Her smile falters, a drop of genuine sadness making itself apparent. “Can you take me there? To your greenhouse?”   
  
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”   
  
Setting aside his tea, the man rises, still watching his bride-to-be as keenly as a hawk. Circling around the table to her side, he offers her his arm, smiling benignly. Stella’s reaction pleases him; it isn’t often he has guests to his garden. There are many reasons - time constraints, the inherent danger of exposing people with wandering hands to some of the specimens he was cultivating - however chief among them was that Sergio felt exposed there. It is one of the few places he can shed any armor he maintains for the sake of his work; where he can simply relax and be at peace, enveloped by the green, earthy fragrances and welcoming, balmy air among the growing things to which he tends. It is unlikely that she would know the gesture for what it was, but if they were to be wed in such short order, Stella deserved to know this tender space.   
  
“It’s my own little oasis. I confess the climate did discourage me at first, but I’ve learned to work with it. I do warn you not to touch anything in there without first asking and let me know immediately if you begin to feel sick. I’ve a number of specimens that are highly toxic, and I would hate for you to suffer any ill because of them.”   
  
She blushes when he offers his arm for her, standing up slowly and straightening her dress before sliding her own arm into the loop his makes. The gentlemanly gesture making her mind swim in a rosy haze and his words swim in it as a dreamy echo. It seems bizarre to her that she is so easily influenced by such simple acts, she doesn’t question it too much thought, more focused on his warning words during their trip to the greenhouse, nodding in understanding.   
  
_ Don’t touch anything.   
  
Got it. _   
  
The office workers they pass by down the hall look at them as if mesmerized, gasping and smiling and blushing and gaping. It’s uncomfortable, but she knows she has to get used to it as the company’s future face and this very important man’s wife.   
  
At the entrance to their destination Stella clings to Sergio’s side, his warning words still echoing in her fuzzy mind. She looks at him, waiting to be invited inside, ignoring the small crowd of curious workers gathered behind them.   
  
Escorting the young woman along with him to the greenhouse, the gaggle of onlookers is unmistakeable, and not entirely unwelcome. This is, after all, about building image and making oneself known. The lot of them, however, are unwelcome in his sanctum, to say nothing of lost production hours. Pausing by the glass doors leading to his garden, Sergio clears his throat meaningfully, casting a sidelong glance to the gathered throng. Once they’ve dispersed, Stella is favored with a gentle smile, her future husband opening the double doors to the garden beyond.   
  
The air billows around them, warm and suffused with the fragrance of countless green, growing things. Whatever else it might be, Strex does nothing in half measures. The interior is impressive, glass ceilings arching high over their heads, the expanse of the garden large enough to encompass not just plants and shrubs, but fully grown trees. It’s somehow slower here; more peaceful. As Sergio closes the doors behind them and Stella’s eyes acclimate, she finds there are vividly colored flowers; vibrant reds, rich purples, and cheerful yellows. Among them flit jewel-like butterflies and humming birds. Greens of every shade appear present, arbors entwined with flowering and fruit-bearing vines. Somewhere within a fountain burbles, and Stella can spy a stream wending its way delicately amid islands of flora bordered with flagstone pathways.   
  
“Do you like it?”   
  
There are many things she doesn’t remember at all.    
  
Being cooped inside the private hospital room for weeks, relearning almost everything stole life’s simple pleasures out of her mind. But the smell of roses envelops her immediately, sending her mind spinning and dancing in the elegant scent.    
  
She gasps and holds onto the young businessman once again, eyes wide with wonder, stricken with the beauty of it all, such a marvelous contrast to the desert city around. Her lip is clasped between her teeth and she is almost bouncing in excitement at his side, still waiting to be guided inside so she wont fall nor trip and touch something she shan’t.    
  
“Oh Sergio, I love it!” she says, her voice shaking and somewhat wet, happy tears making their way from her shining eyes and down her perfectly rosy cheeks.   
  
The smile that crosses Sergio’s face is earnest; one that reaches his eyes, making them twinkle. While the garden is private and jealously guarded, and he isn’t apt to bring people down here often, whenever a visitor delights in his work, it only brings his own joy with this place into sharper relief. With his free hand, he gently wipes the tears from her cheeks before guiding her down one of the winding pathways between islands of peaceful greenery and riotous color.   
  
“Once I teach you which plants to avoid, you may come here whenever you like. It won’t take you long to learn, I think. The toxic plants are often very brightly colored. Although you do come across some delicate little gems now and again as white and innocent-looking as snow.”   
  
Rounding a bend in the pathway, the pair come upon a small, stone-lined pool that burbles with a little waterfall. Beneath the surface of the water, somewhat obscured now and again by waterlilies, Stella can spy the speckled backs of koi drifting lazily to and fro. And, nearby, stems arching as if straining under the weight of fragile, snowy, bell-shaped blossoms, is a small patch of lily-of-the-valley.   
  
His touch is warm on her skin, his gentleness helping her relax before they both enter the young man’s secret place.    
  
The young bride-to-be looks around in utter fascination, nodding when he speaks, turning to face him and away once again to look at the incredible flora decorating the glass building. She has the desire to reach out and touch the blooming beauty but as soon as her hand jerks to caress, she buries it in Sergio’s arm stubbornly.    
  
The idea of her coming alone frightens her somewhat, sending her heart into a rabbit’s race as she swallows a pill-bitter taste and nods again. When they stop by the pond , the instinct to touch returns and she finds herself slowly lowering to crouch on the ground to get a better look, her arm reaches out to the water and the fish nibble on her finger. She laughs.    
  
And then her eyes fall upon the lilies. With a small gasp of excitement, she pulls herself up and lightly pitter patters around the small body of water to have a better look, careful not to step on any of the plants. She crouches again, enjoying the blinding white the blossoms emit in the sunlight that kisses them as well as her head.    
  
“May I touch?” She asks demurely, looking up at her husband-to-be.   
  
Nodding, Sergio takes a knee beside her.   
  
“Of course. They’re safe as long as you’re not eating them. In the language of flowers, they mean, ‘the return of happiness.’”   
  
Quieting, he watches the young woman as she crouches among the flowers and greenery; a little figure wrought in red and gold. She looks as if she was made to be here; almost like the man was building his garden all along without knowing it was for her sake.   
  
“I’ve always found it to be so strange that poisonous plants are often the most beautiful ones you could hope to find in a garden.”   
  
There’s a rush of adrenaline hitting her like a raging bull, her memories recollecting and tearing their way thought the pink mist in her mind.    
  
Her name is Stella Kehr, personal identification number 573114, agent in the special division.    
  
She is  _not_  Strexy Corper and the man at her side  _will not_  be her husband.    
  
Said man’s back meets the soil with a soft thud, cushioned by flowers and grass, her fist a tight grip on his dress shirt and tie, holding him down into the ground with one hand, his arms constricted by the persistent weight of her legs over them.    
  
“Here’s how it’s going to roll, pretty boy.” She hisses, eyes finally open wide and cutting like silver daggers into his own. “You are going to behave and tell me everything I want to know or I’m going to make you smile forever and lose the ability to provide a woman with children.”   
  
The sudden shift in Stella’s personality takes Sergio completely off guard. As she pins him to the spot, however, his mind shifts automatically into analysis of his present conundrum. With her movements and the way in which she is effectively preventing him from overpowering her in spite of their size discrepancy, the woman has clearly had formal training in dealing with situations such as these. She’s unarmed, so far as he’s aware, and Sergio himself has no weapons the woman might take, however they are surrounded by a variety of toxic plants and there is a water source nearby deep enough to submerge his head in should Stella wish to try drowning him. Arms being held in place, he cannot reach the remote in his pocket. Yet.   
  
_ Ricardo, what on Earth have you done?  _   
  
This can’t be coincidence. Sergio’s mentor is an expert at re-education. If Stella has snapped out of things so profoundly, it can only mean that Ricardo planted some sort of trigger phrase to have her abruptly overcome the affects of her programming. It was highly likely the merry prankster was watching all of this transpiring from some location elsewhere in the facility. _Wonderful._   
  
“Alright,” Sergio replies calmly, his voice dropping into a sonorous tone. “What is it that you would like to know, darling?”   
  
Her face twists in disgust at the pet name and she bares her teeth before digging her knees harder onto his pinned arms, ready to crash the bones might she have the reason to. She twists his shirt, making very little room for the man to breath properly.   
  
“Call me ‘darling’ one more time and I assure you there will be no teeth left in your mouth.” She hisses again, leaving the hand on his chest and to a ready striking position to make her statement clear. “Now that that’s clear – who the fuck are you? And who are you working fo—“ Before she can finish her questioning, a searing pain flashes through her head and she lets go of him to clutch at it instead, fingers digging into hair and skin, trying to ease the pain.   
  
Her breathing is ragged and a mix of frustrated tears and blood from her nose decorate Sergio’s shirt in dark red splotches.   
  
The blood causes alarm to flash through the young man’s mind, but he’s not about to lose the opportunity at hand. Twisting, he attempts to shake his assailant off. He hasn’t any designs to harm her, but keeping her safety and comfort in mind makes things considerably more difficult. A head injury is the last thing she needs right now. Whatever it is that Ricardo has put her through clearly isn’t having a stable reaction.    
  
“I think you’re a bit confused right now. Don’t worry - we’ll have you set right in no time,” he grunts, attempting to twist free.   
  
In her sudden and weakened state, that she curses herself for – the man underneath her gains the upper hand. Convulsing, she tips and rolls off of him.   
  
But she can kill him, anyway. This minor inconvenience is borrowed time, Stella assures herself. Whether he tries escape or attack her makes no difference; neither option will end well for him. If only she could focus around this pain! She busies herself in trying to tend to her pounding head, massaging the temples, pinching the bridge of her nose. Deep breaths, in and out.   
  
Nothing.   
  
She can her herself whimper in frustration, if her superior agent would have seen her in this state, what a shame that would be for her.   
  
Stella uncurls from her crouching, head down position to sit up and tilt her head to the glass ceiling of the greenhouse to at least stop the nosebleed and get more air.   
  
Giving her more medication at this point could be lethal. If she’s fresh from Re-education, she likely has enough running through her to subdue three people. There is, in spite of everything, a tiny spark of delight at that. She’s strong-willed, competent, and clearly has received advanced training. A tiny sadness nags at him, even so.   
  
Stella is young. How much of a childhood had she been afforded before undergoing the sort of training that would make her this formidable? He’d call for Ricardo, but Sergio has the feeling he’d get no help from his mentor.   
  
_ Here’s your puzzle, princeling. Figure it out. _   
  
So. She was able to overcome the intense effects of the medication, which meant a good portion of her conditioning is psychologically grounded. Ricardo is fond of trigger words - in all likelihood Sergio simply has to find the one to shift Stella back into her more docile personality.   
  
What had he been saying just before she changed? Talking about flowers, plants, and toxicity. Perhaps what’s needed to change her is linked to one of those topics.   
  
“We can take care of that bleeding if you come along peacefully, blossom. What do you say to coming along with me out of the garden and to the medical department so I can get you all cleaned up?”   
  
She points an offended finger at him, “Stop calling me these cutesy names if you value your tongue.” Then tries to sit up once again, groaning in hopelessness as she plops down onto the plush green underneath her once again.   
  
Lying down in the garden is not an option she can abuse for too long, not when she doesn’t know the reason to her bleeding and how bad it is. But going with the man might prove a fate worse than her death.   
  
She’s stumped.   
  
Sergio kneels beside her, his brow furrowing in concern.   
  
“My apologies, Stella. We should see to your bleeding. You could be having a reaction to something venomous in the garden. There are flowers, fruits, berries, and pollen that can all cause adverse reactions in people.”   
  
On the one hand she’s clearly capable of making life very difficult for him. It would appear she can easily overpower him and, in all likelihood, kill him if she so feels the inclination. But on the other hand, she’s his betrothed and she’s hurt.   
  
“Please, let me help you.”   
  
He begins listing off all the hazards that could be causing her condition and she grits her teeth through the pain, ready to inform him that it is his damned drug that torments her brain, that resisting it will give her internal bleeding and by the deepest circle of hell – she’d rather have that than marry him and live in drugged ignorance.    
  
But then there’s a word and relief washing over her, along with feeling of bliss and a rosy hue settling back into her aching head. The conditioning has been reactivated and she chokes on a sob before a pleasant tingle passes down her spine and her body relaxes.    
  
She lies down for a few more seconds, face turning towards the gently concerned voice looking for a remedy to whatever happened. She smiles at him and heavily sits herself up on the grassy ground.    
  
“You told me to mention any changes in my well being… Well, I feel a slight headache. Can we leave?” Smiling sweetly and blissfully unaware of her bleeding mouth and nose, Stella tries to stand up only to lose her balance all to quickly and end up collapsing onto the young man.    
  
“Oh dear, I do apologize!”   
  
Relief suffuses Sergio’s features for half an instant before he spies the continued bleeding from Stella’s mouth and nose. As she begins to stand, he gets quickly to his feet, holding a hand out to help her, only to have the young woman collapse against him. His arm folds around her to try and keep her upright. She’s heavier than he expected, but supporting her, it’s evident to Sergio there’s hardly an ounce of excess fat on Stella; her weight is largely from her muscles. Small wonder she subdued him so effectively.   
  
_ Who were you? _   
  
The question rings in his head, a clarion cry. Where did Ricardo find you? How long has he truly been grooming you for this? Why you? Why us? Sergio’s mentor does nothing without purpose. Whatever he had planned for the couple, it was likely a plot that had been slowly unfolding for a long time before their meeting.   
  
“Let’s get you out of here, then,” he murmurs, taking a handkerchief from his pocket with a free hand and gently dabbing at her nose and mouth. “Do you feel like you could walk, or would you rather I carry you?”   
  
She is not aware of her weight nor strength but the offer of being carried still seems like too much for her. She can walk, she’s not a doll to be carried around, even if the stylists working on her look did try to make her resemble one.    
  
The handkerchief blotting up the blood oozing from her nose and lips catches her by surprise and she blushes at the tenderness of the act, causing her head to spin wildly and her vision swim drunkenly; how awfully embarrassing.    
  
Their first date, already ruined.    
  
“I can walk, thank you. But I might need some assistance.” She says, pulling herself up with the help of his hand and leaning against his chest for support in her standing. “Do you think I require medical observation? I really don’t want to go back there.”   
  
“I’m capable of looking after you,” he replies, shifting Stella carefully over to one side and giving her his handkerchief. He places one of her arms around his shoulders, holding her hand with one of his, and loops one arm around her waist to support her from behind. “Let me know if this is uncomfortable and we’ll find another way to move you. Let’s try walking together, alright?”    
  
Noting the embarrassment shading her features, Sergio offers Stella a reassuring smile.   
  
“We’ll come here again some other time. Perhaps I’ll pack us a lunch or I can show you some of the choicer specimens in the greenhouse. Did you know that there is a language of flowers? Would you like to learn it? We could make some really beautiful bouquets together.”   
  
She nods at his suggestions, allowing a small smile to grace her lips, “Oh I’d be simply delighted to make something beautiful with you!” – maybe not all is lost after all.   
  
“How are you capable of taking care of me, thought?” She muses, “Are you a doctor? My, how exciting! What a man of talents!” A giggle is added as it becomes a little easier to talk, her head’s consistent pounding gently lifting away and replaced with the already familiar pink hue so forgiving and sweet.   
  
Her arm slides off from his shoulders, both hands folding and unfolding the bloodied handkerchief while her steps are still as a new born doe’s. It’s not until after they are already back and far inside the building that she notices the young man’s arm still securely wound up around her waist, making her cheeks bloom in rosy tint once again.   
The promise of a second date still resounds in her head and she adds a happy little skip to her step, sighing happily.   
  
“Ricardo has seen to it that I’ve had a very thorough education,” Sergio replies, helping her along.   
  
Presently they come to a first aid station within the facility where he helps Stella into a chair and gives her a cursory examination. Clucking his tongue as he checks her pulse, breathing and pupil reaction, the tension he felt before concerning her condition evaporates.    
  
“Everything seems just fine,” he says, giving her a smile. “I don’t anticipate there being any more troubles, but please let us know if something comes up. I would hate for you to be hurt in any way.”   
  
Taking her hand delicately into his, Sergio brings Stella’s fingers to his lips, kissing them lightly. “If you’re tired, I can help you to your room. I assume Ricardo has allotted a suite to you or some other living arrangement?”   
  
If Stella is to play the role which Ricardo has described for her, Sergio is certain that his bride-to-be likely has a sumptuous living space. And if not, well…Sergio plans on remedying that immediately.   
  
When she’s sat on a chair, she couldn’t be happier. Walking proved to be a rather difficult task for some reason and this small rest is very much welcome.    
  
Stella snaps out of her internal monologue about how how happy she is for getting a small break when she hears Sergio asking her a question, and feeling her hand gently resting in his and then kissed. Needless to say that her cheeks heat up once again and she scrambles for words in her mind.    
  
“U-um… I don’t really know?”    
  
All she remembers is waking up in a hospital room, having the situation explained to her briefly and immediately sent to be groomed with a small group of stylists. All she knows is that her name is Stella Kehr and that she is nineteen years old and very soon twenty, and that she suffers from amnesia and that she was involved in an accident on her way to meet Sergio.    
  
She doesn’t know where she lives nor where she came from and that thought is a very scary one, so she shakes it out, smiling bashfully at her husband-to-be instead.   
  
“That won’t do. Well, we have some options, then. There are a number of living quarters that are unoccupied presently. They’re impersonal, but serviceable, and from there we can discuss what sort of living arrangement would suit you best. Any decor or furnishings can be brought in with little difficulty, I imagine.”   
  
He begins to guide her in the direction of the wing dedicated to on-facility living spaces. Sergio has a suite here for himself that he uses, the thought of which gives him a moment’s pause.   
  
“I have an off-site apartment I can stay in if you’d like to use my living space until we can get your own established.” He shrugs with a smile. “I don’t know if it would be to your taste, but it will doubtlessly be more comfortable. Or, if you prefer, I can set your own quarters up close to mine.”   
  
As he guides her back on her feet and towards the large facility, Stella’s mind begins to clear up with pieces of information threading themselves neatly into her brain, carefully placed in memory drawers.   
  
They pass a few doors and she stops by one, turning to look at the door parallel to it with a small gold sign reading: “S. Vega”.   
  
“Here,” she finally squeaks, pulling Sergio by the sleeve as she points to the room facing his own, “this is where I live, I even have a key!”   
  
And just like that she fishes a little gold key from the pocket of her skirt. “I remember that I found the ‘s. vega’ quite funny, it read to me as svega at first… I’m not sure why it’s that funny…” Her banter dies out as she puts the key into the keyhole and twists the lock open.   
  
He smiles as she gives his sleeve a tug, a small chuckle escaping at her enthusiasm. Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder at his own room, he stands nearby the young woman, waiting, eyes sweeping up and down from her head to her heels, coming to rest on the delicately woven coils of her hair. It looks like a profusion of strawberry blonde roses gathered around her neck, and it’s all he can do not to reach out and touch one. As the door to her quarters open, however, Sergio’s eyes flit upward, a grin curling his lips.   
  
The room is redolent in roses. A motif employed throughout, everything he can find bears some hint of the flower. White predominates to such a degree that it almost hurts the eyes, however interspersed flashes of pink and yellow ease the senses. Sunlight filters in through a window of stained glass; pale coral, opalescent pearl, and rich amber panels gleaming between delicately wrought silver work that forms shapes reminiscent of flower stems and leaves bent in a cool breeze. Wooden furniture of blonde and golden hues is situated throughout the dwelling - a wardrobe carved with a flower motif, an elegant little table with vibrant koa wood inlay along its top, chairs that appear to have been grown from the earth rather than fashioned by human hands; all organic curves. Either the woodwork hides seams so closely fitted that they are undetectable by the human eye, or the lot of it is hewn whole right from the trees themselves. Crystal hangs along the ceiling; fragile, petal-shaped fixtures that appear to be spun from spider silk and starlight, casting flittering fragments of light along walls. All of this surrounds a bed that looks as though it were made of meringue; a sumptuous pavlova of a bed piled high with snowy down comforters and countless pillows that here and there punctuate the niveous mound with sugary pastel colors. Four posters stand high at the corners, holding aloft a sheer, silken drapery like a bridal veil.   
  
Ricardo has certainly outdone himself.   
  
She remembers the room, but it always escapes her mind whenever she is away from it for more than a few minutes. She always wakes up in it, no matter where her eyes fall shut.   
  
It’s Sergio’s awe of the room that delights her and a fleeting thought of him coming over to visit passes through her mind, making her blush and sending her head spinning, which, she guesses, is not hard to see as she wobbles slightly.   
  
“I think it’s time for us to say goodbye for today, as saddening as it is!” She sighs, “I don’t think I can go on today, my dear.” A small smile is offered to him, apologetic.   
  
“Quite alright,” he assures her, taking her hand and guiding her to the fluffy mound of feathers and linens that make up the confection of a bed. Kneeling, he reaches out to carefully remove her high heels, setting them aside before running a finger up the arch of her foot, offering her an impish smile. “Although you must promise me tomorrow.”   
  
She squeaks when her stiletto is taken off, a literal knee jerk reaction following her sudden burst of laughter as her leg bounces up and positively collides with the man’s jaw, hard enough to send him to the ground.   
  
Sent sprawling, he thuds against the floor, jaw clicking. Dazed, he lays still for a moment before slowly sitting up again, laughing and rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile.   
  
“Shall I take that as a, ‘yes,’ then, darling?”   
  
Staring at him with visible horror from her post on the bed, she swallows and nods slowly, mirroring his uneasy laugh.   
  
“A hard ‘yes’ it is!”   
  
“Small price to pay,” he chuckles, getting to his feet. Rejoining her at her beside, he takes her hand and lays a kiss upon the back of it. “Sweet dreams, rosebud. I’ll be waiting for you in the morning.”   
  
Her blush returns to her cheeks as his lips rest on her skin briefly with a sweet kiss, “let it be morning soon!” She wishes.   
  
It’s when he leaves that she rushes to her phone, pressing the first contact on it.   
  
“Dr. Vega? It’s Stella. I think I have a problem, my heart feels like it’s about to burst into a rainbow! …Also I think I broke Sergio’s jaw okay byieeeee!”

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with rosylocks aka strexcorpking  
> Stella Kehr belongs to rosylocks.tumblr.com  
> Ricardo Vega was created by timeanddivision.tumblr.com and is portrayed/characterized/written for this work and others relating to the Strex Corp Family on tumblr by rosylocks.tumblr.com and strexcorpsguardian.tumblr.com


End file.
